Benjamin's Tale
by Lyndsey Rose
Summary: A short story based off the Biblical story of ‘Jesus and the Children’ (Luke 18:15). The tale is told through the playful, sweet, and innocent eyes of five-year-old Benjamin who is venturing into the city for the first time to meet Jesus.


Summary: A short story of 'Jesus and the Children', roughly based off of Luke 18:15. The tale is told through the playful and excited, yet naïve eyes of Benjamin, a five-year-old boy who journeys into the city with his Father to meet the Messiah.  
  
[A/N: Before you begin to read this story, let me take the opportunity to thank you for being curious enough to click the link and take a peek inside! I have been working SO hard on this story, and I would love nothing more for it to be read and embraced by my fellow Christians.  
  
I would like to make it clear that I am no biblical scholar. I have studied Biblical times for a semester in school, but other than that, I am completely in the dark as to how people lived when Jesus walked the Earth. If anything seems off, please don't be hesitant to tell me! Thank you, and enjoy the story!]  
  
Jesus And The Children: Chapter 1  
  
The sun was just beginning to peak over the mountainous horizon, scattering a wide palette of beautiful colors—from deep violet to carnation pink, with shards of tangerine, and a hint of crimson--across the sky. I was bursting with happiness today. I couldn't believe it; my two older brothers had agreed to let me hang out with them this morning. We were sprawled out on our backs in the grassy field adjacent to our small makeshift house. They talked about older kid matters, as I, a small child of just five, gazed up in wonder at the breath-taking sunrise. The dewy grass pricked at my bare skin as I watched father descend the mountain with his small flock of sheep. A wave of peace washed over me. In my youthful eyes, all was right in the universe at this moment in time.  
  
"Micah! Dan! Benjamin! Time for breakfast!" My mother's shrill cry from inside the house pierced the warm air. The aroma of warm freshly baked bread wafted out of the house and filled my nostrils. Micah and Dan jumped to their feet and made a dash for the house, mouths watering and stomachs garbling. I didn't move, but instead stared up at the sky in lost in thought. My father had taught me an awful lot about Yahweh and how He had created this beautiful world, but I had never considered it quite "beautiful" before. The world, as I knew it, was just there. But, now, with the deep orange sun peering at me over the jagged mountains, I was beginning to get a glimpse of just how magnificent the earth truly was.  
  
The lush, green mountainside we lived on, with its copious amount of vibrant flowers and fruit bearing trees. The powerful River Jordan, gleaming in the sun, sending light bouncing every which way. The sweet mellow sound of the lute and harp played at the temple services. How good this God person is to His people, I thought, to bestow such gifts upon us!  
  
My thoughts were broken by my Father's kind voice. "Ben, what are you doing out here?" he asked, standing over me.  
  
I studied his face. His dark eyes, although plagued with oversized blue- violet bags, danced with excitement. He had been out with the flock all night, hungry, lonely, and weary; yet a large grin was plastered on his face. Despite his fatigue, he seemed to glow with happiness and excitement.  
  
"Oh, I'm just watching he sunrise," I said, responding with my child-like enthusiasm. "I've never seen one before! Isn't it neat? I think it is a beautiful gift from God!"  
  
My Father shot me a surprised look at my mention of God and then broke into a huge grin. "Say, Ben. I'm going to go into the city to listen to God teach today. Would you like to go and meet Him with me?"  
  
I couldn't believe my good fortune. "I would love to!" I shouted and jumped to my feet. "What are we waiting for?"  
  
My father laughed. "Let's get something to eat first," he said, dropping to his knees and encouraging me to jump on his shoulders for a ride back to the house. I scrambled up his back and hoisted myself upon his broad shoulders, beaming all the while. When I was in position, my father straightened his legs to stand, and I soared higher into the sky than I ever could have reached on my own two feet. Clutching my father's thick, curly hair and grinning from ear to ear, I ordered him to speed up the pace. Soon, he was sprinting across the field to our little shack of a house, his laugh ringing louder than his footsteps. With the wind racing through my hair, and the grass speeding by beneath me, I felt as if I was flying—soaring high above the earth's surface. As we approached the house, I could see my Mother waiting for us outside of the house for us, a small smile spread across her face. My Father slowed to a halt and let me down from his shoulders a few feet in front of the house.  
  
I ran to my mother and threw my arms around her midsection, wrapping her in a hug. Words poured out of my mouth like rain out of the sky in a downpour; I excitedly broke the news to her that I was to see the Messiah with Father today. My Mother's glance shifted from myself to my Father. "Nathan, is this true?" she questioned in a small, concerned voice.  
  
"Yes," my father said smiling, heading toward my Mother and placing a small, sweet kiss upon her forehead.  
  
"But, Nathan... Ben has never been into the city before. He's only five years old," my mother said, her brow creasing in worry, and her voice growing softer yet. She knew that it wasn't a woman's place to tell a man what or whatnot to do.  
  
"Five-and-a-half!" I butt in, tossing the childish comment my mother's way.  
  
Ignoring my remark, my mother continued, "Couldn't you take Micah or Dan instead? They are both at a suitable age for a visit into the city."  
  
My Father thought for a moment and seemed to be considering my Mother's comment. Then he shook his head and spoke. "Sarah, regardless of Benjamin's age, his love for Yahweh surpasses that of his brothers. If anyone meets the Savior, I want it to be him." My Father's eyes met mine, and I nodded in a serious, adult-like manner to his comment, not letting loose the jubilant five-year-old smile I felt inside.  
  
-0-  
  
As my Father and I neared the city gates, I begged him for a drink of water. We had traveled many miles to get to the city under the blistering sun, and my mouth's consistency was that of sandpaper. My Father nodded, his mouth parched too, and led the way to a well he had stopped at many times in his past travels. Two women sitting near the well volunteered to get us the water while we sank down to the ground and rested against the cool stone of the well. After my Father had graciously received his drink, he thanked the women and began to make small talk with them, asking what the best route would be to get the hillside where the Messiah was teaching. Gulping down mouthful after mouthful of the cold water, my thoughts began to shift to the Messiah.  
  
The first question to pop into my naïve mind was: What would the Messiah look like? I envisioned a massive, gigantic man who towered over trees and made the ground rumble when He walked. He wore an elaborate rainbow cloak embroidered with golden thread, and His long beard shone like glistening silver in the sunlight. His hand, adorned with a beautiful jewel on each finger, clutched an enormous staff, much like the one Moses held in the Scripture story. I imagined my Father and I spending time alone with Him. He would greet us with a warm, loving voice, take us up in his large, gnarled hand, and ask us how we were enjoying his creation. I'd respond eagerly, expressing my appreciation for the beautiful things I'd seen earlier this morning.  
  
My Father's gruff voice commanded me back to reality. I noticed that the two women had left their seats beside the well, and now only my Father and I remained. "Are you ready to travel a bit more, Ben?" he asked.  
  
I nodded eagerly and jumped to my feet, even more enthused after the little daydream I'd had.  
  
"Now, Ben," my Father said, crouching down to my level and looking me square in the eye. "The city can be dangerous at times. I want you to promise me that you'll stick by my side, no matter what."  
  
I nodded, my eyes like saucers. My mind began to flood with more questions. What types of dangerous things would be lurking in the city? What would happen if I ended up getting lost? Grabbing hold of my Father's hand, I vowed that I wouldn't let myself stray from him.  
  
We traveled a short distance up the road and entered the large city gates. Once inside, my senses overwhelmed me. Aside from short visits to the temple every year, I had never been far from my home. Here, in this unfamiliar city, an adventurous feeling overtook me. I had never seen so many people in my life! The market was alive with noise—Women bustling to and fro with screaming babies, weaving their way through the crowded market place; men buying, selling, and trading at various stands, bartering for the best deal at the top of their lungs; soldiers silently overseeing the bazaar and making sure no mischief came about. My father's grip tightened around my hand as we headed through the market. The city smelled of urine and sweat, and the people were rude and pushy. A plump old woman bumped right into my dainty frame and knocked me off my feet, shouting crankily for me to "Watch where you're walking, young man!"  
  
My Father grumbled angrily as he helped me to my feet. I wondered if that rude old maid was the danger my Mother and Father had warned me about in the city. Brushing the dust off my old beat-up pants, my Father and I pressed on further into the market place. I spotted a pretty lady on the street corner with bright green eyelids and a sparkly outfit. She seemed lost, almost, and was scanning the crowd miserably. "Father, look at that sad woman over there," I pointed out. "Why does she—"  
  
"Ben, we don't associate with those types of people," my Father responded harshly. He yanked my hand, pulling me along.  
  
"But Father," I pleaded. "She looked so sad. What was wrong with her?"  
  
"Ben." Hatred burned in my Father's eyes as he looked upon the woman and violently shoved me past her. What had the lady done to ignite such an anger in my Father? I would later learn that the woman was what the Pharisees called a "prostitute", and that to be associated with her in any way was treason against God, and a sin.  
  
But she looked so sad.  
  
-0-  
  
The threshold of people was lessening as my Father and I traveled away from the busy bazaar. Before we got to the outskirts of the city, my stomach let out a deep, gurgling noise. My Father chuckled, remarking, "Getting hungry, Ben?"  
  
"Yes," I said in a small voice, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. In the excitement of the day's events, I had forgotten to attend to my stomach!  
  
My Father crossed over to a small cart where a man was selling fresh loaves of bread (at which I speedily took off on his tail, not wanting be harmed by the "dangerous things" lurking about the city). The warm aroma radiating from the bread was enough to make my mouth water. I breathed in the delicious scent and patiently waited while my Father exchanged coins for two loaves.  
  
"Thanks, Father!" I cried as he handed me the bigger of the two loaves. I had not begun to wolf down the bread when I heard a small whimper slice through the silence.  
  
"What was that?" I wondered aloud, ceasing to walk for a moment.  
  
My Father sped up to a quicker pace. "What was what, Ben? I didn't hear anyth—"  
  
The whimper turned into a shrill whine. Startled, I let out a yelp and scurried to hide behind my Father. It was the "dangerous thing" my Parents had talked about, and it was coming to get me!  
  
But I remained unharmed. The whine grew weaker and weaker, until it was reduced to a pathetic rasp. Peering out behind my Father's legs, my expression of fright transformed into one of mixed confusion and compassion.  
  
An elderly, terribly emaciated man was laying in the gutter, covered in filth.  
  
In my short five years here on this Earth, I had never seen a human being suffer so wretchedly. Deep gashes covered the poor man, and dried blood caked his skin. Tears streamed over the cuts in his delicate face. Flies hovered over his shapeless form as he festered away on the filthy street's surface. My heart ached for the helpless man. In horror, I glanced up at my Father. He stood motionless and unmoved, his loaf of bread untouched.  
  
Moved with pity, I ran to the man and fell to my knees at his side. The stench coming from him was nauseating enough to repel me away, but I moved closer to him. I didn't know what to do, or what to say to this total stranger, so I took his fragile, bloody hand in my tiny, unblemished one and...sobbed. With every ounce of strength left in this man's frail body, he cocked his head toward me, looked into my eyes, and whispered in a grating voice, "The Messiah."  
  
The Messiah. He wanted to see the Messiah.  
  
"Father?" At the sound of my voice, my Father awoke from his state of shock and edged closer to us to catch a glimpse of the horrendous sight. In shock, I watched my Father's face morph into the most awful expression ever seen to grace a man's face: One of pure and utter disgust.  
  
Trying to ignore the repulsion masking his features, I quivered, "F-Father? He wants to see the Messiah." I glanced at the man slowly rotting before my eyes. The Messiah would help this man; I was sure of it.  
  
My Father sneered. "This man isn't worthy of seeing the Messiah. He's not even worthy of our time. This, son, is a Samaritan." He spat the word "Samaritan" out of his mouth as if it were some disgusting food he'd just tasted.  
  
"Come, Ben," my Father said, turning his back to leave.  
  
In disbelief, I leaped to my feet. "You mean you're just going to leave him here?!" I shouted, tears streaming down my sweat-laden face. "You--you can't... You wouldn't!"  
  
But he would.  
  
"I said 'Come, Ben'," my Father said forcefully, grabbing a strong hold my arm and dragging me away from the man. Before walking away, however, that man who I called "Father" cast one last look upon the miserable man and spat in his face. 


End file.
